Streams of Consciousness
by Biscuit50
Summary: Set shortly after Harry and Ruth's date. Interior monologues as they try and make sense of what's happening.
1. Chapter 1

Kudos owns MI-5/Spooks. I'm just borrowing a few characters for a little light entertainment. Set in that all too short time between their one and only date and her having to leave. Not sure in my universe that she will be leaving … haven't gotten that far yet.

**Streams of Consciousness**

**Chapter 1**

Sometimes you don't see the forest for the trees? Honestly, that's so true. Not that I like to think of myself as thinking in such obvious cliches. After all, I am a classics scholar by education, and a bona fide spook by career and commitment. So why is this whole "Harry asked me out … again" thing so difficult? What the hell am I waiting for? Why do I push him away?

Damn it, I just missed my bus stop. Note to self: stop talking to myself and concentrating on things that are so diverting I … miss my bus stop. Ugh, and it's raining as well.

No doubt I deserve cold driving rain in my face, and against my body. It might teach me to pay attention and multi-task just a bit better. Harry wouldn't miss the stop while thinking about me, would he? No, not likely. He'd be thinking of the next five things he had to do, and the most efficient route to get there, and … oh, thinking of Harry is not really a good plan here. That's what got me into this whole damp mess.

Now, although I have an umbrella, I've managed to get my feet completely wet and cold. Does it ever stop raining here? Sometimes, I swear, it's a deluge and it's too much. Perhaps I should consider a warmer climate.

Except Harry is not there in a warmer climate, even in my imagination.

I expect Harry would have a plan for a Friday night, even after a long, grueling week like this one. No doubt, he'd come in (completely dry, having been ferried by his driver at his convenience), take off his coat, hang it properly in its place (I bet everything in Harry's place is neat as a pin, totally in order, lined up with military precision, no clutter), change into comfortable clothes, no wet shoes or socks for Harry, and once changed, pour himself a scotch, turn on some music, and then sit for a few minutes of quiet reflection before getting up to prepare dinner.

He probably cooks something … what does he eat? Is he one of those men who cooks? Is he chef material or is he just a guy who resorts to takeaway or worse, frozen foods? In the best of all possible Harry worlds, I'm thinking he probably has some interest in cooking, but doesn't do it often enough to be great, but would, if he had the right companion to share tasks with in the kitchen.

How nice to open a bottle of wine, and talk about our day while cooking something delicious. Actually, it would be quite wonderful to come home to that, wouldn't it? Well, if I'm honest, to come home to him (or with him) … and just hang out together.

Does Harry "hang out"? I don't know. He's a man, of course he must. But I never recall hearing him say, oh, I stayed in all weekend and watched the telly or did spring cleaning or went to the races or … what does he do when he's not at work?

Well, I know he thinks about the Grand Tour. He mentioned that. He thinks about me being his companion. He implied that. So he thinks about travel. And he thinks about us.

I like to travel. I like to learn and see and do things in person. Maybe we should explore the (restated) maxim: what happens outside London, stays outside London. Could that work?

I wonder what it would be like to travel with him. A lot of first class hotels and venues? Probably. Harry doesn't strike me as a budget "Lonely Planet" type of traveler. Well, except in the past when he might have been on an op which required that as a legend. So, first class accommodations in Europe's best destinations. Hm, I could do that.

And he mentioned having a spirit of romance.

I think I could have a spirit of romance. I'm quite sure of it. It would make me really nervous, but if I could relax (somehow), Harry would be a fun person to be romantic with, if only he wasn't my boss. But he's very, very attractive.

It's funny – he's not classically handsome, in the way that Tom was or Adam is. But that voice, seriously. It's a much … is bigger the right word? It's a much more powerful weapon than anyone supposes. Or at least, it's tuned to a frequency that absolutely seems targeted to reach me (and only me? … I wish). He has lovely eyes as well. The truth of the matter is: the combination is deadly.

Right … deadly attractive.

People watching, without the surveillance van and a backup team? I know who I'd be watching.

Harry.

I wouldn't need the van or the backup team either.

It would be fun to sit in cafes and argue about this or that, and visit museums and discuss art and literature and movies … without having to worry about saving the world. What leisure. We could even discuss philosophy or ideas … How much fun would that be?

We're so pressed all the time, we rarely have the opportunity to sit back and reflect on how we could do our jobs better, how we could be better resourced, how we could "outthink" the enemy (ies), how we could be even more coherent as a team. Well you get the picture. We don't have enough time to step back and just … be.

So frequently, I find myself thinking, oh, I must tell Harry that, or I must bring this to Harry's attention. Or I wonder what Harry would think about this thought?

One thing I know, he always stops and listens to what I say. In fact, when he's listening to what I have to say, he seems to focus on me in such a way that there's no one else on the planet at that moment. Such concentration, such focus.

How does he do it? How does he convey the idea that he considers every word that I'm saying as important? I suppose it's one of his real talents. When coupled with his ability of knowing how to respond in such a variety of situations, he's really rather impressive.

* * *

By now, of course, Ruth had made the 15 minute walk back to her flat, let herself in, divested herself of wet clothes, shoes, coat, donned her most comfortable (dry) pajamas, put the kettle on, and settled down in her front room with Fidget by her on the sofa. A stack of books on the table beside her beckons, but her attention is diverted when her mobile rings, showing a familiar number.

Harry's.

What could he possibly want?


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for words of encouragement and reviews. I just like the idea of these two people interacting more outside of work. Kudos owns MI-5/Spooks. I'm just borrowing a few characters for a little light entertainment.

**Streams of Consciousness**

**Chapter 2**

What a long, frustrating week. On balance, I suppose I could classify it as a good week. We got more than got us, no one died, and I only had to attend several interminably boring JIC meetings. Actually, no, boring isn't exactly the right categorization, is it? Politically maneuvered, scheming … those descriptions apply better. The awful part is: their motives are so transparent to anyone with a functioning brain. Why do they bother?

Going home alone after a long week like this is not particularly satisfying either. Especially when I know there's someone out there I would like to spend some time with. But if I call her or pressure her in any way … she may keep rejecting me.

I hate rejection.

To put a finer point on it, I hate resistance as much as I hate as outright rejection, especially when I'm doing my utmost to be sensitive, charming and well, way outside my comfort zone. Life, when it's promising some really good stuff, shouldn't be so hard.

Ok, now it's apparent I'm talking to myself. Perhaps I should wait until I'm home and at least talking to Scarlett. Then I'm talking to my dog. Is that really better?

Seriously, I'm the head of counterterrorism for MI-5. I should be able to puzzle this out and determine a successful course of action that will deliver the results I want. That's it, I need to apply a more gridlike approach to achieving my goal. Does this mean I think of Ruth, or more specifically, of dealing with Ruth, as an operation? Yes, I guess I do.

Not wild about all the rain lately either. Driving home in this mess is slow and, well, messy. And Ruth takes the bus. She will be drowned by the time she reaches her home. Perhaps I should inquire about her. She left before I noticed, the little minx. Probably to catch whatever blasted bus she needs to in order to arrive home at a decent hour. But in the rain, she will be cold and wet by the time she arrives.

I think I will call her and inquire as to whether she made it safely. Perhaps I can parlay it into an invitation for a drink or something less formal (and less related to our working positions) and therefore, more acceptable to the enigmatic Ruth. What will appeal to her?

No, overthinking this will get me into trouble. I'm better on my feet. I'll just call her.

* * *

She answered her phone.

"Ruth, how are you?" asked Harry. "I was worried that you might not have made it home yet and had drowned along the way. I hope you're safe and warm."

"His voice is so smooth," she thinks to herself. Out loud she responds, "Thanks for that, Harry. Yes, despite missing my bus stop and having to walk back from the next one, which under normal circumstances wouldn't be so bad, but today was particularly damp, I did make it safely, if rather wetter for wear. It's not really a good look for me."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that. Why'd you miss your stop?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"Oh, I was daydreaming or distracted by something, not quite sure how I managed it," she admitted, somewhat sheepishly, and grinning to herself, knowing full well why she missed the blasted stop.

"When I looked up after my last call with the Home Secretary, I saw that you were already gone. I figured you had gone quite some time before, having caught the bus, or I would have offered you a ride. So sorry you got all wet," Harry said, although the image of her all wet was oddly appealing in his head. "Perhaps I could make it up to you. Do you fancy a drink? I could do with a bit of relaxing myself."

"Oh Harry, I'd hate to go back out in this weather. I've only just gotten dried off," she replied. "But since …"

"Oh, I didn't mean to make you go back out in any weather … I'd be perfectly happy picking you up, or bringing something over. I just feel like relaxing with a friend after a long week without having to be on guard about every little thing I say if you know what I mean," he explained.

"I know exactly what you mean," Ruth slowly agreed. "Are we talking tea, or did you have something stronger in mind?" feeling herself pulled into the inescapable vortex that is Harry. "He is like a force of nature, isn't he," she thought to herself.

"Tea is nice but if I'm honest, I'm in a mood for something a little stronger and maybe even some food. Tell you what, why don't I stop and pick up something and meet you at yours? Is that ok?" he asked, hoping she'd just acquiesce without too much thinking about it.

There was a pause in the back and forth while Ruth pondered her answer. "Well, why not? Two friends relaxing after a long week is a perfectly acceptable thing to do. I'll say yes, thank you. But do you want me to get the food? There's a good indian place about two blocks from here, they do a wonderful chicken tikka masala and their parathas are delicious, especially the mint ones. I know that sounds weird, but trust me, they're delicious."

"Ok, you order the food, text me the restaurant name and address. I'll pick it up on my way over. I'll be at the restaurant in 30 minutes. Just want to change into something more comfortable and let Scarlett get outside for a quick break," Harry agreed.

"You could bring her with you if you want," Ruth said accommodatingly. "She's pretty well behaved, isn't she? She probably misses you all day, and then to have you rush right out again. That's not a nice thing to do to a pet, is it? If you bring her along, you don't have to rush home right off or anything … She's not afraid of cats, is she?" realizing all of a sudden what she was implying, but now unable to dig herself back out of her conversational hole.

"No," Harry chuckled, "she's exceptionally well behaved, as you put it, and not afraid or even particularly interested in cats. And I would love to have a reason not to rush anywhere right after eating and drinking. So thank you for thinking of her. That's a great idea. We'll be along shortly and on our best behavior. See you in a few." He wanted to end the conversation before she could rethink her position or stop him from coming by.

"What am I thinking?" Ruth thought. "I'm sitting here in pajamas and with wet hair … ugh, I've got to order the food and put on something respectable. On the other hand, Harry's coming over, Fidget. I guess I'd like you to be on good behavior too. I wonder what prompted all this?" She got up, called in the food order, texted Harry's phone and headed upstairs to blow dry her hair and change into jeans and a soft shirt. She didn't want to look like she was trying too hard …


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for words of encouragement and reviews. I just like the idea of these two people interacting more outside of work. Kudos owns MI-5/Spooks. I'm just borrowing a few characters for a little light entertainment.

**Streams of Consciousness**

**Chapter 3**

Following his knock on the door, Ruth opened to quite a sight: Harry, with Scarlett on a lead, a bag of food from the takeaway restaurant, and a bottle of wine in the hand holding Scarlett's lead. How he knocked, she wasn't sure, but hey, he's a talented guy, right?

It was still raining, so Harry and Scarlett were wet, or at least very damp. Ruth took the bag and the wine, while Harry unclipped Scarlett and divested himself of his overcoat and shoes, since they were rather damp too.

"You don't mind me taking my shoes off, do you, Ruth?" he asked. "I hate to track water and worse into your house."

"Not at all, Harry," she replied. "I put a towel there in case Scarlett's paws need wiping as well."

"She thinks of everything, doesn't she, Scarlett?" Harry whispered conspiratorially to his dog as he checked he paws and gave her a little rub all over, just to be on the safe side.

The "she" in question walked into the sitting room, which was a little toastier, now that the fire had been going for a little more than an hour. She had the wine bottle, an opener and two glasses in hand. "Harry, can you please open the wine and I'll put the food in the oven to stay warm, ok?" Ruth asked.

Harry opened the wine with no problem … a very nice Cotes du Rhone that, from past experience, he knew had a smooth finish. He hoped other things would have a smooth finish, before the night was over. But that was getting ahead of himself.

"Thanks for thinking of Scarlett, Ruth. I really appreciate it. She doesn't exactly complain, but as you pointed out, it's not nice to leave her alone all the time," Harry told her. "How does Fidget do without you?"

"Well, he's a cat, so it's somewhat difficult to tell whether he cares a lot or not," Ruth laughed. "On the other hand, he does kind of exhibit boy-cat behavior – likes to be in the room when I am home, whether he's cuddling or not, that's a different story. So, dear, how was your day?" she asked playfully.

"Where's the real Ruth Evershed and what have you done with her?" Harry asked. "I don't think I've ever seen you this relaxed. Is it because we're here in your house? How do you explain this turn of events?"

"I'd like to say it's the wine speaking, or perhaps the company, or maybe, outside of the grid, just maybe I'm a completely different person … but all of those sound trite. So I'll attribute it to this – my defenses are down because I'm tired a bit nervous … and a bit nervous … I'm also hungry and only just dry from being very wet earlier … I'm well outside my comfort zone," she admitted.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" he asked, moving a little closer on the sofa.

"Well, it is nice to sit here and know that we don't have to be somewhere else," she said as she leaned in a bit as well. "Other than that one memorable dinner, I don't think we've spent this much time together outside the grid ever. It's kind of a nice start."

"So what did I interrupt with my phone call earlier?" Harry asked.

"I had just sat down with a cup of tea, and, if I remember correctly, I was talking … with Fidget," Ruth admitted sheepishly. "Fidget serves as my official sounding board for so many things. I believe he was considering the merits of bus travel and why human beings feel the need to ever leave the comfort of their homes. He's got a point."

"He does at that," Harry agreed. "Probably wondering why you missed your stop, or did you confide in him, more than to me?"

"Harry, you're treading into dangerous territory," Ruth chuckled. "I told you, I was distracted."

"Enough said," Harry backed off. "The restaurant where I picked up the food looked pretty nice. Do you eat there a lot?"

"I do get take away a fair amount … never been a big fan of sitting alone in a restaurant eating dinner by myself," Ruth admitted. "It seems so pathetic. I seem so pathetic, and I don't like seeming that way. I'll do it if I have to, but if it's just me, I'll do the takeaway, and eat here at home. What do you do late at night when you're arriving after a long day at work?"

"I guess it's some of the same. Or I might stop by my club for a quick bite to eat and a drink. But knowing Scarlett's at home by herself seems wrong, so I will either stop and pick something up, or cook something quick at home. I have one or two skills in the kitchen," Harry said with a gleam in his eye.

"I'll bet you do," the words came out of Ruth's mouth before she could stop them. A pause, then, "Exactly … to what skills were you referring?"

Harry grinned, providing another little dramatic pause. "I suppose I do a fair spaghetti bolognese when I have the time to make the sauce from scratch. I've been known grill a decent piece of meat, now and again. Nothing too gourmet, just basic fare."

"I'm surprised. You don't seem like the cooking type," Ruth admitted.

"I've been taking care of myself for a long time," Harry said. "I imagine you know what that's like as well."

"Yeah, you do what you have to, but I'm no Nigella in the kitchen. I can make a decent omelet, and I know a few things, but cooking for myself has never been particularly inspiring."

"I kind of like it," Harry admitted. "It's relaxing when it's not too late, and I like preparing food that's a little healthier than pre-made frozen dishes. But, as I say, I mostly cook when I have time, which as you know, isn't all that often."

"All this talk of food is making me hungry," Ruth said. "Let's just bring the food in here and eat. Is that ok by you?"

"Sure," said Harry agreeably. "Let me help."

Moving into the kitchen, Ruth directed him to put the food containers on a tray, and she collected plates, cutlery and napkins. Her kitchen was not all that large, so they bumped into each other a few times … but it wasn't as awkward as when they were on the grid. No, it was really quite nice doing something as prosaic as assembling the required necessities for a simple, already prepared meal.

"Oh my god, Ruth, this chicken tikka masala is fantastic," Harry said as he helped himself to seconds.

"I know … I've been going there for years and I never order anything else. I'm convinced it's got addictive drug-like qualities. Don't hog it all, Harry," Ruth laughed. It was fun sharing this meal together, she thought. Harry's much different outside the grid. And actually, come to think of it, so was she. She hadn't felt this relaxed around Harry ever. His earlier comment about "what have you done with Ruth Evershed" was revealing. Was it really this easy? Was she just waiting to be released from her usual more awkward self, only when on home territory, so to speak?


End file.
